I Messages
by Car
Summary: It really is a very simple communication strategy. First, look them in the eye and say their name. Then you tell them how they make you feel and why they make you feel like this. Finally, tell them what it is you want them to do about it. See? Simple!


**A bit of a note on the name usage in this fic- I usually don't like to use human names, but seeing as this pretty much follows the therapist's thoughts, and she only sees them as humans, I figured it made more sense. XD More on my Head-cannon once I get around to writing my inauguration fic! **

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Two very disgruntled men sat at either end of an overstuffed red couch, determined not to get closer to each other than absolutely necessary. A very professional looking woman sat on a matching armchair opposite them, clipboard in hand and frown on face.

"This is absolute bollocks."

"Totally! What a load of crap!"

The woman pursed her lips and considered the men sitting before her with practiced precision. Arthur Kirkland: age 23, occupation classified. Born and raised in the United Kingdom, in New York on business.

Alfred Jones: age 19, occupation also classified (strange, for a man his age). A New Yorker all his life, and apparently, in a similar profession as Kirkland, as that was what had brought them here in the first place.

"So," she began. "What brings us here today?"

Kirkland's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nothing that two grown men can't work out on their own, thank you very much." He paused, crossing his arms and turning his nose to the air. "Or perhaps I should say one grown man and one insolent, overgrown child."

Jones gasped. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me! An overgrown child who can't keep is massive girth out of other people's business!"

"Oh yeah?" Jones snapped back. "I'd take being a child over being some big-eyebrowed dinosaur who keeps himself cooped up on his damn island all the time!"

"_Dinosaur?"_

"A scrawny one who can't cook!"

"Okay," the woman said sternly, looking up as she finished scribbling something down on her notebook. "That is quite enough."

Jones pouted. "He started it."

The woman delicately placed her pen down and adjusted her glasses so they sat at the tip of her nose. "What I am seeing between you two is a complete lack of proper communication. Instead of properly telling each other what is on your mind, you both simply pepper your feelings with insults."

"Excuse me," Kirkland cut in. "But I really don't think all of this is truly necessary."

"Obviously it is if you're in my office." The woman pushed her glasses back up her nose with a small smirk. "Clearly, your superiors were concerned enough with this lack of communication to require you two to come to this appointment. From the reports, I can see that this has gone on for some time, and that it is disruptive to your fellow colleagues."

Jones snorted. "_Everyone_ is disruptive! It's not just us!"

"Be that as it may, _you_ are the ones here, so it's _you_ we are going to focus on. Now," she scribbled a bit more on her notebook and held it up for the men to see, "We are going to use a strategy called 'I Messages'. I Messages are a way to politely and properly share feelings with another person you are in disagreement with."

The men eyed the notebook wearily.

"For example," she continued, "I'm going to pick on you for a second Mr. Jones, I hope you don't mind. Let's say Mr. Jones hasn't been replacing paper in the copier after he uses it."

Kirkland snorted, receiving a glare form Jones in response.

The woman continued, ignoring them easily. She pointed to the first line on the paper, reading "Name." After that came "I feel…", "When…", and last was "I want…"

"The first thing I would do is look Mr. Jones in the eyes and say his name. Next, I would tell him how I feel, and why. Last, I would tell him what it is I want him to do. So, it would look something like this." She learned forward somewhat and looked Jones in the eyes. Seemingly uncomfortable with this, the young man fidgeted slightly. "Mr. Jones, I feel annoyed when you don't replace the paper in the copier, and I want you to try to remember to do so from now on."

Jones nodded hastily in agreement, causing the woman to smile brightly.

"See? It's very simple!" She nodded to Kirkland. "Mr. Kirkland, why don't you start us off? Tell Mr. Jones something that has been bothering you."

The man grumbled and glanced toward Jones out of the corner of his eye. "Must I?"

"Yes."

"This is so…Ugh. _Fine_. Alfred-"

"Ah-ah, Mr. Kirkland. Don't forget to look him in the eyes."

Kirkland glared at her murderously before turning his eyes to the now smirking Jones. "Alfred," he grumbled, "I feel like fucking throttling you when you act like a complete prat at meetings, and I want you to stop being such a bloody wanker."

Jones gawked at Kirkland who simply smiled in satisfaction.

The woman sighed. "Okay, a bit more swearing than I would prefer, but you have the right idea. We'll just have to work on word choice." She turned to the other man. "Mr. Jones, why don't you give it a try?"

"Me?"

"No, the other sodding Mr. Jones in this room, you git."

"Mr. Kirkland."

"Sorry."

The woman smiled pleasantly at Mr. Jones. "Go on."

Jones crossed his arms and grinned. "Arthur, I feel sick to my stomach whenever you get near a kitchen, and I want you to never cook another damn thing as long as you live."

Kirkland gaped before puffing up like an irritated little bird. "See!" he exclaimed. "He can't take a damn thing seriously!"

"I was_ so_ being serious!" Jones exclaimed.

The woman sent Jones a disappointed look. "Mr. Jones, we're focusing on real issues here."

"Dude, trust me, his cooking _is _a real issue."

"You just have no taste!"

"Because that toxic waste you made me eat when I was a kid burned off my taste buds!"

The woman sighed deeply. "Okay, why don't we try something a little different?" She stuck her pen behind her ear and crossed her hands on top of her clipboard. "I Messages can also be used for _positive_ comments. For instance, Mr. Kirkland, I feel happy when you and Mr. Jones can get along. I want you to keep working on your differences. See? Mr. Jones, why don't you start us off this time?"

Jones pouted. "I liked the insulting ones better. Can I do another one of those?"

"No. Just think of something nice you would like to say to Mr. Kirkland."

Worrying his lower lip, Jones looked nervously at Kirkland who crossed his arms expectantly. "Uh…" he mumbled intelligently. "Arthur, I uh…I feel happy, I guess, when you…aw jeez, I don't know. I guess I feel sorta happy when you…you know, don't shoot my ideas down right away. Like, at meetings and stuff…"

Kirkland blinked owlishly, a small red tint creeping up to his cheeks. The woman beamed, absolutely thrilled. "Very good, Mr. Jones! Now, what would you like Mr. Kirkland to do?"

"What would I like him to do?" He squeaked. "Oh, like, the I Message thing, right. Uh…I'd like him to give me a chance more, I guess."

At this point both men were blushing lightly, but the woman was far too delighted that something was _actually_ getting through to them to notice. "Fantastic! What about you, Mr. Kirkland? Something you would like to say to Mr. Jones?"

The look on Kirkland's face could only be described as one of absolute horror before he was able to shake it away with a harsh clearing of his throat. "I…uh, I suppose…"

"Don't forget to look into his eyes and say his name, Mr. Kirkland."

"Oh bloody hell." Kirkland did just that, the flush on his cheeks intensifying slightly. "Alfred, I…uh, I suppose I rather enjoy that you are so…enthusiastic about doing the right thing…Even if it's just you that thinks so."

"And…?" The woman prompted, much to Kirkland's apparent dismay.

"And I want…oh hell. I want you to continue to be so…" He gulped. "Passionate."

The woman, still unaware of the growing blushes, clapped her hands together happily. "Wonderful, gentlemen! Go on and do another Mr. Jones, then you Mr. Kirkland."

"Another?" Jones yelped, his eyes widening as they briefly made contact with Kirkland's. The woman nodded enthusiastically. With a heavy sigh, Jones turned his head determinedly back to the other man. "Dammit, Arthur," he cried. "I feel so goddamn grateful that you always stick with me, even when things aren't looking too good. I want you to always be there for me!"

At this point, the woman was starting to catch whiff that something wasn't quite normal. "Uh…"

"Oh Alfred," Kirkland all but swooned, placing a gentle hand on his knee to draw back his gaze. "It makes _me_ grateful to know I'll always have you as my closest, dearest ally. After all, even after the strain our special relationship has gone through the past few years…I still… Blast it all, I treasure it!"

The woman blinked, glancing uncertainly between the two. "Wait, special _what_ now?"

"God, Arthur," Jones' voice suddenly dropped a few octaves. "It makes me so hot to hear that accent of yours." He leaned in so his lips were just barely grazing the other's ear. "I want to hear it screaming my name."

Kirkland smirked wickedly. "Well, _Alfred_," he purred pushing him back lightly. "_I_ feel rather hot and bothered when you take your shirt off during exercise or manual labor." He ran a teasing finger down his chest. "And I want you inside me. _Right. Now_."

As the clothes began to fly, the woman fled the room, slamming the door behind her and sliding down it gratefully.

Okay, this was getting fucking ridiculous. First that Spanish guy with the angry little Italian and now _this_?

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she begrudgingly took out her cell phone and dialed the now familiar upholstery cleaning service number.

Time to get the couch cleaned.

Again.

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**I'm pretty sure there is a special circle of Hell reserved for people like me who get ideas for slightly dirty fics as the guidance counselor speaks to her third graders about making good choices. Feel free to blame all the problems of the American education system on yours truly. XD Anyway, that is where the idea of "I Messages" came from. Don't ask me if they work or not, I have no idea. The kids haven't used them. **

**You can thank Snowpocalypse 2011 for this fic, cause I was given TWO SNOWDAYS to finish it, cause someone up there obviously loves me. :D Also, I don't know if I'm going to finish that Alfred loses his keys story. I'm not really feeling it, but if other people want me to continue, I will. Cause I love you guys. Heart.**

**Anyway, enjoy this! Review! Go play in snOMG 2011, and have fun! -Car**


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